The definition of insanity, according to Albert Einstein, is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. I wonder if Al's kids ever took music lessons.

Our after-school routine is firmly established: walk in the door, sit right down and do homework, and then practice piano, or in A's case, piano and trumpet, and then relax. Every day, my children will think of 876 excuses why they shouldn't have to practice, or why playing each song once is more than adequate, or they will simply sit and stare at the wall for 20 minutes before playing a single note.They never win. They always end up practicing. Insanity is the only reason that I can find for them to continue with this drama when we all know what the result will be.They will never win. This is déjà vu for me. I fought my parents every bit as hard as they are currently fighting me over practicing. I can tell you, there are about 300 excuses out there that they haven't discovered yet. Luckily for me, my parents had spines of steel and demanded that I take lessons and do the practicing that was required.Even more luckily for me, I had the best teacher in the world, who dealt with my tin ear and my lack of interest in piano by finding genres and composers that I enjoyed to entice me into practicing. (I still have the "Movie Themes" song book and "Fur Elise" is the only song I can play from memory.)She was, nonetheless, an exacting taskmaster, and after 12 years, I emerged competent at piano playing and with lifelong friends in my teacher and her family. My parents told me that someday, I would thank them for it. As much as it pains me to admit it, they were absolutely right.It took about 35 years for that day to arrive. Granted, there have been countless times when being even slightly musical has come in handy, and I still enjoy sitting down and playing favorite songs. But there was, literally, one single day when every single minute spent on that piano bench was finally worth the agony.Last spring, A asked me to help him practice his trumpet solo for the spring band concert by accompanying him on the piano. Although he played with the school band every week, he was understandably nervous about playing a solo with only a piano to accompany him.I was so tickled that he asked me to help him practice that I more than made up for all of the hours of practice I had skipped as a child.After a few weeks of practice, he said, "Mom, we're doing this so well, can I ask my teacher if you can just play with me at the concert?"The number of times that I've actually played piano in public is limited to about three. It is not something I've ever been comfortable doing.However, I'm guessing that being asked to do something in public with my growing son is something that isn't going to happen regularly as he gets older, so I jumped at the chance.Of course, with my shaking hands, I did have a slight flub, but luckily, my little trumpeter played on and my slip was covered up.As a result, I weather the storms that accompany my children and their practice times. Eventually, they practice, and I can see their confidence growing toward the end of the week. It doesn't happen every week. Believe me, there are weeks when I send them off to lessons embarrassed by how ill-prepared they are, but those are learning weeks for them, too.At the very least they have to answer for why their lessons are not better prepared. Most weeks, they manage to progress, and by lesson day, almost seem to enjoy playing their songs.G also harbors a little bit of resentment toward A, because now he has to hear that "someday, he will be 41, and his children will ask them to play a song with them, and thanks to me, he will be able to!"Whether practice lasts a half-hour or three hours, it gives me one-on-one time with them, to see how they learn, and how they adapt to challenges. I also get to practice the one thing I was never, ever very good at … patience. Unfortunately for them, since I can read music, they don't pull much over on me, and I try to be as exacting a task master as I remember my own teacher being.Fortunately for them, their teacher is every bit as inspiring as my own was, and the theme from "Star Wars" sometimes even gets played voluntarily.Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News. Her column appears weekly in our Saturday feature section.